Sometimes I Can't Make It Alone
by DemyxTheMenace
Summary: Dean's day is almost predictable, the only variation being what Big-Baddie he kills. But now that Sam has decided to stop hunting, Dean begins to tire of his routine. Comfort-Destiel


**Author:** DemyxTheMenace

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** Minor spoliers, but if you haven't seen the fifth season before or up to "The End," then...well, we might have some problems.

**Characters: **Dean, Cas, mentions Sam, kind of fluffy-comforting Destiel

**Summary:** Dean's day is almost predictable, the only variation being what Big-Baddie he kills. But now that Sam has decided to stop hunting, Dean begins tires of his routine.

**A/N:** So I was reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I couldn't help but write this in my mind. The quote that inspired this is at the beginning of the fic, and I hope you like my own little tweak on it. It's rated T because of suggestive material and I didn't really know where that would fit in...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it, so don't sue. The quote is from The Grapes Of Wrath by John Steinbeck, and Supernatural, regrettably, belongs to Erik Kripke, because, honestly, if I DID own it, do you think I would be writing this?

* * *

><p><em>"...Fella says once that truck skinners eats all the time - all the time in hamburger joints along the road."<em>

_"Sure seem to live there."_

_"Sure they stop, but it ain't to eat. They ain't hardly ever hungry. They're just goddamn sick of goin' - get sick of it. Joints is the only place you can pull up, an' when you stop you got to buy somepin so you can sling the bull with the broad behind the counter. So you get a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. Kind of gives a guy a little rest."_

_"Must be tough."_

_"Well, it ain't no goddamn cinch."_

Dean goes through his days in the same routine; drive hella far to God-Knows-Where while listening to the same five casette tapes most likely including AC/DC, Black Sabbath and the like, eat some greasy food from a road-side dump-of-a-restaurant, arrive in town to find a motel room, investigate whatever brought him there, gank the monster raising trouble, head to the nearest bar, drink until intoxicated, flirt with the waitress, go home with her, and then sneak out to start the cycle all over again. Rinse and Repeat.

With Sam "retired," Dean's days had only gotten blander, until finally, he didn't even have to think about any of his actions. He went through the motions of a human - he ate, he went to the bathroom, he slept - but Dean was only a shell of a person. A shade of his former self. Not even porn could lift his spirits or...certain parts of his anatomy.

So Dean, after staying in Honky-Tonk-Who-Cares, Texas, hunting what Bobby had thought was a demon, but ended up being a very powerful poltergeist, had crashed in a nearby motel. Until, of course, he fled to the Impala as he woke from a fitful dream involving hellhounds, his father, and yellow eyes he knew was irrational for him to fear still. Where he was going at four in the morning was a mystery to him, but maybe he could leave his memories as well as that crusty old motel behind.

Dean cruises the hill-country until he decides that the rumors of a nice club in Austin were too much. He rents a room at The King's Inn in South Austin, and spends two nights buried in booze and women. At one time, Dean might have been pleased with the evening's endings, but could only find a hollow sort of satisfaction. He continues on his way towards Paris, Texas, and finds fleeting solace in the successful exorcism of yet another demon he otherwise would have ignored in favor of bigger fish. But at this point, Dean would've settled for anything that let up from the boring, predictable monotony of his more recent days.

In Texarkana, Dean decides to dine in a little family-owned restaurant. He orders his usual; coffee, a cheeseburger with no veggies and mayo, fries, and a slice of pie after his meal. To lighten up, he chooses a peach cobbler instead of pie, after the waitress tells him it's their special. Her name is Lizzie, with medium brown hair and a thousand watt smile Dean would have found contagious had he the energy to give any more than a small smirk. Her caramel eyes sparkle when he flirts with her and Dean thinks that he should give a generous tip.

He eats his meal in silence, debating whether to up the charm to take "Lizzie," back to his motel with him, or simply shrug her off and head off to a liquor store to buy some alcoholic beverage to nod off to. Dean finds he doesn't have to decide, when Lizzie sets a napkin with her number and "I get off at 11!" written on it with his check.

Dean smiles his ghost of a smile up at her and nods. Lizzie's eyes speak of what her smile doesn't, about her youthful eagerness, about her almost child-like play of seduction. Dean only smiles a little wider. He pays for his food and makes up his mind to visit the liquor store anyway, only he takes his Jim Beam to his motel and settles in to wait the hour to go pick the waitress up.

Unsurprisingly, Dean soon forgets about Lizzie, and starts mumbling to himself about little brothers who ditch their families and dickhead angels with the exception of Cas, of whom he keeps quiet about. He mentally picks apart Lucifer, and Michael, and Zach and all of his current enemies. He ponders whether Bobby wishes he and Sam were his actual sons, mourns his mother's absence, wishes Jo were alive to take hunting. He thinks of everything and nothing, and continues to drink the bottle dry.

After a while, a flap of wings, like a flock of birds flying by sounds, and Dean glances up from his drink almost eagerly. Shockingly blue eyes meet his and Dean is actually glad to see the angel. Castiel's head tilts when Dean grimaces, but he shakes his head solemnly and Cas says nothing.

Dean pats the seat next to him on the edge of his bed and holds out the bottle of whiskey. They both know Cas can't get drunk, but the angel takes the offer anyway, his weight making the mattress dip, comfortingly, Dean thinks.

They sit in companionable silence until Dean's vision swims, and his head lolls on his shoulder. He can't keep it up anymore, and startles slightly when the bottle is tugged from his fingers, his head guided to rest against the angel's. Dean's only response is a small sigh and a grateful groan when his heavy head is made comfortable on Castiel's shoulder. Cas smiles a little and sets the whiskey down on the nighstand.

Dean clings to conciousness, hesitant to leave the waking world where his guardian, his angel, can protect him from his nightmares. Whether Dean notices is another story, but Cas knows, and taps Dean's forehead with his middle and index fingers to help clear Dean's head and give him a night void of dreams. Cas then moves them to lay down, slipping under the covers shamelessly with his charge.

Smiling as Dean slips his hands into his trench coat, Castiel buries his face into Dean's hair to settle in for the night. From the back of Dean's unconcious brain, he notes the warmth and comfort of being held and hopes that maybe next time Cas leaves he won't have to go on such a self-destructive path before being 'saved.'

Cas hopes he can stay with Dean, that there won't be a next time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please leave a review, whether it be a few words to tell me I misspelled something. I always apprectiate feedback and welcome furthering my writing skills. Check out my other stories, if you would like. I'm also open to suggestions on more Destiel one-shots if you would like to request one.

_Remember;_

_Reviews + Alerts = more Destiel from the Menace_

_Thanks,_

_Demmy_


End file.
